


Violence

by BazinMousqueton



Series: The Body and the Battle [2]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Episode Related, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head, Semi-Public Sex, Spoilers through to 1x02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 13:51:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7620835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BazinMousqueton/pseuds/BazinMousqueton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Porthos holds back, Aramis's stare nearly works on Athos, and no-one gets to go to bed. Still, there's always the stables. And the street. And the riverbank.</p><p>Or: two times Aramis gets a hand job from Porthos and one time a kiss is enough.</p><p>The fics in this series are chronological but standalone -- there's no need to read the first one to enjoy this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Violence

**Author's Note:**

> Set during 1x02 (Sleight of Hand).

Aramis pressed his right hand to his jaw. His teeth ached; he could feel the shape of Mme Bonacieux's bare hand branding his cheek. Her scent lingered -- olive oil, garlic and fresh linen.

"God," he said. "I love that in a woman."

"Passion?" said Porthos. Aramis chuckled. Porthos should know better.

"Violence."

Porthos laughed. Aramis turned and gathered him by eye. He sauntered, slowly, into the garrison stables, Porthos following. 

"She's left a mark," Porthos said, his voice a half-tone lower than usual. Aramis smiled to himself, recognising Porthos's arousal. Porthos could be calibrated by his mouth: his smiles, his laughter, his voice.

"She didn't hold back," Aramis said, with a pointed glance over his shoulder. "Unlike some."

He stopped to greet Treville's gelding, his hand out, palm down. The horse blew on it, its warm breath visible in the wintry March air, and nudged his soft nose into Aramis's hand. Aramis took this as permission to pass and made his way to the empty stall at the far end. Dry straw crunched underfoot. Porthos grabbed Aramis's shoulder, spun him round, and pressed him into the stable wall, body to body, face to face. 

"I'm stronger than her," Porthos said, his mouth a fraction of an inch from Aramis's.

"You certainly are." Aramis insinuated his left thigh between Porthos's, leant in until he felt Porthos's half-hard cock, and turned to give Porthos a full view of Mme Bonacieux's handprint. "Just think of the marks you could leave." 

Porthos pushed himself away, throwing his hands in the air, _I give up_ clear in his body language. 

"Don't you know when to quit?"

"Never."

Porthos surged forward. His gauntlets slammed into the wall either side of Aramis's head. Aramis flinched reflexively. 

"See!" Porthos said, leaning down and spitting the word into Aramis's face. His lip twisted. "I could _damage_ you. You know it, I know it, and I will never, ever, go there."

Aramis put a hand into the small of Porthos's back and drew him close. 

"And yet..." Aramis said, rubbing his crotch against Porthos's. Both men's erections strained their breeches. Before Aramis could finish making his point Porthos kissed him, using his left hand to hurriedly unbutton first Aramis's breeches and then his own. Aramis pulled back, checked they couldn't be seen from the stable doorway, and unlaced his linens.

They worked one handed, each stroking the other, biting down their groans. They both focused on speed, knowing how to send the other quickly over the edge: Aramis flicked his wrist a half-turn on the upstroke; Porthos used his thumb to circle Aramis's tip. They matched their rhythms. Aramis took a shuddering breath, captured Porthos's mouth in a kiss, and moaned his pleasure into his friend's tongue. His back arched. He pulled out a handkerchief just in time to spend into it. Porthos came a heartbeat later, unprepared, spilling seed onto his doublet and breeches.

Aramis wiped himself off and handed over the damp square of cambric. Porthos swabbed at his clothes, grinning at the coronet and arms on the handkerchief's corner.

"Fanciest embroidery I've ever used to wipe my cock," he said. 

"Keep it," Aramis said. "I'll tell the lady next time I see her. I'm sure she'll find the tale... provoking."

He laced and buttoned himself back into respectability.

"And how many of your violent women could be provoked into an encounter like this?" Porthos asked as Aramis strolled away. 

Images flashed through Aramis's mind: a duchess in a walled garden; his wine merchant's wife in her cellar; titled sisters in the room adjoining their mother's bedchamber. He chuckled. 

"Oh, you'd be surprised, my friend."

Porthos laughed, full and unrestrained. The sound of pure joy followed Aramis as he stepped through the stable door and into the daylight.

# # #

Aramis arrived at Treville's office early on Saturday morning. The door was open. Inside, Athos leant in his usual place, against the door frame in the back wall, his hat in his hand. He nodded a greeting. Aramis took the risk of sitting on Treville's desk: insubordinate, undoubtedly, but he looked good when lounging.

Athos had buttoned his doublet up to the neck, allowing only a glimpse of the brown striped scarf underneath. He wore his clothes plain, buttoned up and tucked in: the opposite of Porthos's extravagance. Aramis allowed himself a moment to admire Athos's elegant silhouette, and another to regret Athos wasn't wearing his azure half-cape. It brought out the forget-me-not blue of his eyes.

Aramis pulled the Queen's cross from under his shirt and kissed it, watching Athos. Was there...? Yes -- a definite glimmer of curiosity.

"A gift from the Queen," Aramis said, striding over to Athos and holding the cross out for inspection. 

"I heard," Athos said. "Porthos was not impressed."

"Porthos isn't one for courtly love."

Athos took the cross and examined it, forcing Aramis to lean closer. Aramis felt his pulse flutter. 

"Were you injured in protecting the Queen?" Athos asked.

Aramis couldn't quite believe his luck -- two conquests from one minor wound? He didn't smile, wary of making Athos skittish. He kept his expression serious and his gaze on Athos's face.

"Nothing that will scar," he said. 

Athos released the cross. He raised his hand to Aramis's cheek. Aramis widened his eyes.

"Something in your eye, Aramis?" Treville asked, striding into his office, his boots loud on the floorboards. The two Musketeers sprang apart, Athos flustered enough to drop his hat.

# # #

Aramis could read the tension in Porthos's stride. He'd spent the day watching Vadim's front door while his quarry nipped out the back. They'd lost the conspirators and the lad d'Artagnan. Porthos's shoulders were down, his fists clenched.

Porthos caught Aramis's gaze and feinted his head towards a narrow alley. They slowed. The other Musketeers dispersed into the rain and the dark. Porthos turned into the alley, Aramis at his heels. He felt his cock hardening as he walked; the risk of discovery adding spice to the assignation.

"I nearly stole a kiss from Athos this morning," Aramis said, quietly. 

Porthos halted, twisting to face Aramis. "You never." His voice combined scoffing and envy, and rumbled low.

Aramis gave his best arrogant smile, with a brief eyebrow lift. He'd win their bet: he and Porthos both knew it.

"What stopped you, then?" Porthos asked.

"Treville."

Porthos chuckled. Rain flooded off the brim of his hat and down his cloak. "Better make this quick," he said, unbuttoning. "Gotta be up early for Mass." His cock sprung free, already fully erect.

Aramis stepped close, facing Porthos, and undid his own breeches and linens. The shock of cold raindrops hitting the sensitive tip of his cock made him gasp. He shifted his feet to line his cock up next to Porthos's. Porthos bent his knees slightly and wrapped a gauntleted hand around both cocks. Aramis gasped again. He curled into Porthos, pressing his head against Porthos's chest, taking a deep breath of the beeswax polish Porthos used on his uniform. The double sensation of leather against cock and cock against cock had him moaning and panting within a few strokes.

Porthos kept his tempo constant, holding Aramis up when his knees threatened to give way. Porthos's strength, and the tightness of his grip, sent thrills rushing through Aramis's body. He felt the coiled potential for violence in Porthos's grasp; saw it in his taut neck; heard it in his stream of muttered obscenities.

Aramis shattered. He clung to Porthos, trembling, as he came in his friend's fist. 

"Easy," Porthos said, supporting Aramis while continuing to rub himself gently. Aramis gulped for air. Rain cascaded across his face. The dizziness receded. Porthos loosened his grip, letting Aramis's weight fall back onto his own feet. He wobbled, then stood upright, realising he'd been neglecting his lover. He stripped off his right glove and ran his index finger around the tip of Porthos's cock. Porthos shivered.

"May I?" Aramis said.

"Thought you'd never ask."

Porthos removed his hand. He threw back his head as Aramis ran two fingers and his thumb down the full length of Porthos's cock. Aramis stepped in to kiss the arch of Porthos's neck, biting a teasing trail under his jaw to his ear. He sucked the lobe, the gold hoop clicking against his teeth, as he closed his fingers and began to stroke to a faster beat. 

A hitch in Porthos's breath told Aramis his friend was close. Porthos stood braced: feet planted squarely, weight spread evenly. His arms hung at his sides, the fingers splayed and relaxed. He groaned as he approached his climax, the sound barely audible over the downpour.

Aramis twisted his wrist and raised himself onto his toes to whisper into Porthos's ear.

"You are magnificent, my friend."

Porthos beamed, and came.

# # #

Athos nodded to d'Artagnan. They each bent, hooked an arm under one of Vadim's armpits, and together dragged the body across the riverbank, back towards the tunnel. 

"Collect the King's treasure," Athos ordered as they passed Aramis.

Aramis glanced at Porthos, hoping to share a laugh about his Majesty's family jewels. Porthos didn't look up. He knelt to pick a thick gold chain out of the stinking mud. His jaw was clenched, tight enough that his teeth must hurt. 

"Porthos?"

Porthos closed his gauntlet around the chain and moved on, towards the glimmer of a pearl and ruby necklace.

"What is it Porthos?"

Porthos kept his gaze averted. Aramis clasped his friend's arm and swung him round. The cold fury in Porthos's eyes made Aramis recoil. He stepped back, his ankle turning on the uneven ground. Porthos didn't reach to steady him. 

"What were you thinking?" Porthos hissed. It clearly took all his self-control not to shout; Aramis wished he'd lose it and yell. It would, at least, break the tension. "Throwing yourself onto a bomb. Didn't you hear me shout?"

Aramis had. He'd thought it was the last thing he'd hear -- Porthos's voice shouting his name. It wouldn't have been a bad sound to go out on, although he'd have preferred _Yes, Aramis, yes!_ to _No, Aramis, no!_

He squared his shoulders. "It was my duty."

Porthos's lips pulled back, baring his teeth. "Your duty was to shoot that scabby fucker before he started lobbing bombs at the King. You're a Musketeer, not a human shield."

He shook with the effort of containing his violence. Aramis approached with his hands held out, as he would with a uncontrollable horse. He could see Porthos's rage in the muscles and veins straining under his skin. 

They had both lost their hats as they'd raced across Paris to the Louvre Palace. Aramis lifted his hand -- slowly, giving Porthos plenty of time to stop him -- and pushed Porthos's bandanna off. He tangled his fingers in Porthos's hair. Porthos breathed out and dropped his head onto Aramis's shoulder. Aramis ran his fingertips in long, soothing arcs across Porthos's scalp.

"I thought I'd lost you," Porthos whispered.

"I'm here." Aramis pulled his friend close. Porthos hugged back, dropping the gold chain and squeezing too tightly. Aramis, feeling the tension bleed from Porthos's body, didn't complain. He pressed his cheek against Porthos's, nuzzling until the tautness in Porthos's jaw eased.

Porthos cupped a gauntleted hand each side of Aramis's head. He bent to kiss Aramis. Aramis closed his eyes. Porthos's lips touched his tenderly; his mouth the softest and most perfect thing Aramis had ever felt.


End file.
